


The Absurdity of Being Eames, a Rom-Com

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Inception Bingo, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Future/Cyberpunk AU. When Eames and Arthur are connected to be sex partners via the Formula, neither of them expects it to turn into a real relationship. Much as he craves romance, Eames doesn't even notice when it does.





	The Absurdity of Being Eames, a Rom-Com

**Author's Note:**

> Inception Bingo 2018 story number nine! This one is for the following squares "cyberpunk AU," "answering an ad," and "didn't know they were dating."

“Eames, these old movies are all the same.” Ariadne laughed and threw a piece of Nutri-Pop at him from her bowl. “I don’t know how you can stand them.”

“Truth,” Yusuf agreed. “They look so weird, all flat like that.”

The three of them were gathered in Eames’ pod, as they often did after classes. Eames won the toss, so he’d chosen the film, and, as always, selected an early 2000s romantic comedy.

“These kinds of films don’t exist anymore,” Eames explained. “They’re a remnant of a bygone era. I think it’s romantic.”

Ari rolled her eyes. “It’s weird to think of movies made with real people,” she said, poking at the holoscreen as if she’d be able to feel the actors’ flesh. “So inefficient.”

“The plots are where I lose it,” Yusuf said. “I mean, I know people used to do this stuff, but it’s so bizarre. Trying to be friends and have sex with the same person? And only one person? Forever? No wonder everybody was so miserable before the Formula.”

Eames shook his head. “You’re missing the point, mate. It’s sweet, how they find each other, and how they have to work at it.” He shrugged. “Before the Formula, there was chance to it, you know? It was a gamble.”

“Why would I want to take a gamble on who I fuck or who I’m friends with?” Ari asked, forehead wrinkled. “I mean, what are the chances I’d have found you guys without putting my ad up?” She shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll take my Formula-figured partners, please. I like to know I’ll be successful.”

“It’s not always successful,” Yusuf reminded her. “I mean, Eames manages to fuck it up!”

“He does that on purpose,” Ariadne replied. “It doesn’t work because he doesn't want it to work.”

Eames glared at her and tipped his bottle of Nutri-Beer in her direction. “Not exactly,” he said. “The Formula has done me right for friends, but the people it gives me for sex?” He shook his head. “Boring.”

“Then you lied on your questions,” Ari insisted. “If you gave it good information, it would match you up right. It’s still on you.”

Eames shrugged. “Maybe.” He turned away from her and instructed the projector to start another movie.

Later, before Yusuf and Ari left, Ari pulled him aside. “Don’t put a sign on your back, Eames,” she warned. Ari was interning in the Formula Main Office (FMO), so she worried about these things now. “You know what can happen to people who don’t respect the Formula.”

Eames nodded with pursed lips. She wasn’t wrong--it was dangerous to take himself off the roster for as long as he had.

“Put up a new ad,” Ari advised. “Or find one to answer.” She grinned. “You could use a lay anyway.”

After he strapped himself into his sleep suit, but before he pushed the lever to start the sleep cocktail drip into his IV, Eames thought about what Ari said. It had been much longer than the advised 5-7 days since he’d had sex. The Formula suggested Encounters at least that frequently, and no more often than daily, depending on the ages and other specifications of the partners. Eames’ last partner, an older man, hadn’t been up for anything beyond the minimum. It had been weeks since he ended that and took himself off the roster, though. If anybody was paying attention to his patterns, he’d get a letter of rebuke soon. The FMO didn’t like it when young, healthy citizens didn’t meet the suggested minimums. He sighed. Tomorrow, he’d find an ad to answer.

The next day’s classes dragged. Since joining the Academy, Eames had mostly been bored. At home, he’d been able to entertain himself with a bit of petty crime. Up here on the base, there was nothing to do but study and fuck. Since he hadn’t been fucking, that pretty much left the books. Eames was far ahead of his classmates, even those who availed themselves of in-ear tutors.

After classes, Eames went for his mandatory sixty minutes of daily exercise. Most students chose to simply strap themselves into the machines and let their bodies be manipulated for maximum muscular and cardiovascular benefit, but Eames preferred to go manual, running on the old e-track and lifting weights. For each set, he ordered the computer to change the weight level, adding pounds until his body felt droopy. This, too, was warned against--the FMO had a standard weight-bearing exercise plan, which Eames had been going over for years. Another small infraction he hoped nobody would ever notice.

Back in his pod, Eames stood in the Chem-Bath and allowed his skin to be blasted. He thought of the showers people took in his beloved old movies. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have access to endless water, so much that you could just stand under it and let it slide off your skin. The feeling must have been incredible.

After he’d eaten his evening Nutri-Capsules, Eames settled and flicked on his screen. Most people didn’t bother with this anymore--they just had whatever they wanted to see ported directly into their eyes, but Eames liked being able to see the words and picture enlarged and outside his own head. He opened the ads, then selected the sex area and entered his Formula statistics.

Ari wasn’t totally wrong when she assumed he lied on his Questionnaires. The Formula touted itself to be completely personalized, based on the responses given by each individual to their specially built list of questions, and renewed at regular intervals. But Eames found the questions both overwhelming and unsatisfying. He could answer honestly about everything he wanted in a friend, or in a fuck, at a given moment, but there was no telling how it would change, or how an interaction with a specific individual might influence his desires. So, as time went on, he stopped trying to give the Questionnaires the closest he could find to honest answers, and instead started trying to play them, answering in ways he thought would produce a given result.

As he began to flip through the listings that matched his Formula, Eames couldn’t quite remember what he’d been thinking when he last updated his Questionnaire. Whatever it was had matched him with the older guy he’d fucked for a while, and with a severe woman before him. Likely he’d get someone else in that mold, but it didn’t really matter. It was just sex. He was just doing it because it was expected.

As usual, many of the listings had no images, or images that were clearly altered. Eames rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why people bothered with that--the Formula only gave you a few choices in your geographic area, so it wasn’t like most people could be overly particular. There really was no need to lie.

Eames looked at a few ads that might work before one caught his eye. If the image was real, the man was better looking than most. The drought and food shortages had been hard on people, and many had physical issues from before the advent of Nutri-Capsules. Eames was used to the people he met having issues with their skin, early baldness, or missing digits, at the very least. His own teeth were an absolute wreck. This man, though, looked as if the Hard Times had somehow passed him by--he wore the standard uniform, but was sleek and healthy, his eyes alert in a way most weren’t anymore. If it was an altered image, it was at least altered in a pleasing way. The man hadn’t given himself huge muscles, an unwieldy bulge in his pants, or purple irises. He’d just made himself look healthy.

Eames read the profile quickly. Arthur, a year behind him in the training corp, pod on the other side of the base. He’d skipped all the non-mandatory information, listing no hobbies, interests, or preferences. Eames found this equal parts intriguing and irritating. His own current profile was full of the kind of witticisms he created when tanked. Still, there was nothing to lose--if it went tits up, he could blame the Formula. He sent a message.

Arthur didn’t get back to Eames for two days. Although that kind of thing was typical in the old movies Eames loved, it was unheard of now. Communication was meant to be instantaneous. The message he sent Arthur would likely have routed directly into his visor, displaying in front of his eyes immediately. Most people would simply respond while they were going about their business. Any social stigma around sending text, voice, or even image messages while you were showering, exercising, eating, or even excreting had long since folded under the pressure for instant gratification.

When Arthur did respond, it was with nothing more than his pod coordinates and a time. Eames sighed. This was clearly not going to be a playful encounter. “I hate you,” he told Ari, showing her Arthur’s message. “This is the kind of shit the Formula gets me.”

“Well, maybe he just likes efficiency,” Ari said cheerfully. “I mean, it’s not like there’s a mystery about what you’re meeting for, so does it really matter? Might as well cut through the bullshit.”

Eames shook his head. “Not one ounce of romanticism in your entire tiny body.”

Ari nodded in agreement. “Romanticism is for old people and animals.” She grabbed his arm. “Come on, we’re going to be late for class.”

Eames took no special care before he climbed on board the shuttle to Arthur’s quadrant. Arthur’s message made it clear that he was interested in a bare minimum, so that is what he would get. Eames imagined, as the train hurled along, what it would be like to be apprehensive or excited by meeting a lover for the first time. As a tot, his nan told him stories about not knowing if the person you’re going to meet is going to have sex with you, or if they’ll be someone you’d like as a friend. There used to be a mystery. Eames couldn’t quite wrap his head around how exciting that would be.

When Arthur opened the door, Eames was pleased to note that his image hadn’t been retouched. He was wearing casuals now, loose pants and a tunic, the same as Eames, but nothing else about him was different. He was Eames’ height, slender but not fragile. His face was all sharp angles. His eyes were dark and a little hard. “Eames,” he said. “Come in.”

Arthur’s pod was much neater than Eames’, with his class materials neatly stowed in their cubbies and his uniforms hanging stiffly in the wardrobe. The basic outline and furniture were the same, as it was in all the trainee pods, but Arthur’s seemed colder, more sterile. There were no drawings or images or mementos on the walls. Eames looked around and was surprised by having nothing to say.

“Shall we begin?” Arthur asked, his hands at the throat of his tunic, as if he would unfasten it.

“Ground rules first?” Eames replied. He liked a bit of a chat first, himself, but that was clearly not on the menu.

Arthur nodded. “I bottom, but will top if asked. Erogenous zones are ears, neck, navel. Penis is large-average length, average girth. Sensitivity levels normal everywhere except knee backs, which are sensitive-plus.” He paused. “I do not kiss, I do not cuddle.” His mouth twisted, as if the words were distasteful.

God, what had Eames answered on his Questionnaire to end up with this? He sighed and gave his own stats, reeling them off as automatically as Arthur had. “I top, will bottom on request. Erogenous zones are lips, collar bones, crease of groin. Penis large-average length, large girth. Sensitivity levels are high at feet, knees, elbows, armpits.”

Arthur nodded. “Suits me.” He began to undress.

Eames watched Arthur first. He knew it would probably earn him an irritated look, but he liked to see what he was getting. Arthur didn’t disappoint. His body was lean and hard, muscles rippling under smooth, pale skin. His scarring was minimal--the impression of general good health he gave remained when he stripped off his clothes. After stepping out of his undergarments, his eyes flicked to still-dressed Eames. “What are you waiting for?”

Eames shrugged. “Are you on a schedule?”

Arthur frowned. “Not precisely, but I don’t like these things to take too long. I have studying to do.”

Eames chuckled. “Nothing here to do but fuck and study, and you want to rush the fucking? Alright, then.” He pulled his own clothes off quickly and carelessly.

Arthur eyes were on him, as he’d hoped they would be. Eames’ body was unusual, for their times. His insistence on going so far above the typical weight calibration was part of it; part was just luck. Then there were the modifications to consider. Art didn’t exist anymore, really, with all of the historically great galleries and museums long since destroyed, but Eames had started emblazing representations of art on his skin at a young age. Paintings and sculptures long-since destroyed were copied, with whatever skill and detail were available for purchase, all over his torso, his arms, his legs.

“Those are tattoos?” Arthur asked. He looked mildly curious.

Eames nodded. “Been collecting them.”

Arthur didn’t ask any more questions. His eyes ran up and down Eames’ frame. “Why are you so built? Do you take performance drugs?”

Eames snorted. He knew people often assumed that of him, but most weren’t bold enough to ask. “No,” he said. “I like to work out.” He grinned. “I go manual, with my own weight levels.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Is that allowed?”

Eames shrugged. “Not exactly. But nobody’s watching.”

Arthur looked thoughtful. Then he backed up and sat down on the narrow bed. “OK, let’s get started.”

Ah, romance, Eames thought, walking forward. He pushed Arthur back experimentally, and Arthur fell willingly enough, lying on his back and allowing Eames to straddle him. “Ears, neck, navel?” Eames asked, bending his head to speak directly into Arthur’s ear.

“Yes,” Arthur whispered. HIs hips shifted under Eames and if he wasn’t mistaken, Eames could feel Arthur’s cock beginning to respond to him already. It wasn’t usually that easy. Sometimes, it took hours to get a partner off--like the rest of their bodies, their sex organs didn’t always work the way they had in generations past.

Eames focused on the task at hand, laving at Arthur’s ear with his tongue, then moving down to his neck. He let his hands roam over Arthur’s smooth skin, amazed at how few marks it bore. “How’d you get so perfect?” he muttered, biting gently at Arthur’s throat.

“Good genetics,” Arthur answered, as if the question had been serious. His hips canted up, hard for sure now, his cock rubbing pleasantly against Eames’. “I’m already prepared.”

Eames tried not to be put off by the rushing. This was, he reminded himself, an interaction he could repeat often if he so chose--partners rarely turned him down a second Encounter. So he pulled back, pushing himself up to his knees. “Like this OK?” he said. “Or do you want to turn over?”

Arthur didn’t answer, just flipped his body over and pulled himself up, resting on his knees and elbows. Eames took a moment to admire his ass. He might be kind of a rude bastard, but he certainly was something to look at. Eames ran two fingers down his crack and tested his preparation.

Arthur huffed indignantly. “I told you, I’m ready.”

“Large-average length, large girth,” Eames reminded him pleasantly. “It’s best to be sure.” For an odd moment, he thought about the obsession with “protection” characters in his movies seemed to have. It had been decades since anybody thought of that, regardless of the sex or gender of their partner. With disease eradicated and offspring produced only in controlled laboratory settings, there weren’t any consequences to sex anymore. He wondered if that might be part of the problem.

When Eames pushed into Arthur’s body, he was surprised by the tight resistance. The prep Arthur mentioned didn’t appear to have been sufficient after all. Eames pulled back, but Arthur reached back with one arm and held him still. “I like it like that,” he said. “Keep going.”

Eames took him at his word--that was part of the Code, to listen to the words your partner says and respect their meaning and intent. He pushed in the rest of the way. Arthur shuddered and made a low sound. “Good?” Eames asked.

Arthur’s head bobbed, so Eames continued.

Once he picked up the pace, Eames stopped thinking. It had been a long time since sex had been able to clear his mind. He always tried to make it good for his partners--both because he was proud of his streak of partners requesting second Encounters and because he was just that kind of bloke. Generally, it didn’t much matter to him--he could get off however, and it was all about the same. This was more intense than he’d felt in some time. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Arthur’s body moved with his, providing just the right level of resistance, if it was the view of Arthur’s pert ass and smooth, pale back, or it was the small, bitten noises Arthur was making. Whatever it was, it was working.

“This is working a bit too well for me, love,” Eames gritted out. “Might need to pause a minute.” It was the height of bad manners to come before your partner was ready, and there were some standards Eames did indeed follow.

“It’s fine,” Arthur gasped. “I’ll…” he reached between his own legs, pulling hard on his cock. Eames was stunned. He’d absolutely pegged Arthur as someone unwilling to get his own hands dirty. “Keep fucking me!” Arthur ordered when Eames paused.

It was fast, then. Arthur jerking himself hard and pushing his hips back against Eames, Eames thrusting into him at full force, cursing, his teeth gnashed together. “Fuck, you’re so tight, you’re so good,” Eames was just cognizant enough of his own words to know he’d be embarrassed by them later. “Take it, oh, God!”

They came within seconds of one another, Arthur’s orgasm making his body clench, and Eames responding to that clenching. Eames continued to swear as he came down, pulling himself out of Arthur and collapsing next to him.

Eames only barely remembered Arthur’s warnings about kissing and cuddling in time to stop himself. He thought about quoting at Arthur the part in the training manual that warned that cadets needed not only regular sex, but also skin-to-skin contact and affection to flourish. He didn’t know Arthur, Eames reminded himself. He might get those things somewhere else. Once he caught his breath, Eames rose and gathered his clothes.

“That worked well,” Arthur said from the bed. He was sitting up, but seemed looser and more relaxed than he had when Eames walked in. There were, Eames was secretly pleased to note, two darkening marks on his neck.

“I thought so,” Eames agreed. It had been the best fuck he’d had in years, honestly, but he wasn’t going to give that much away.

“Again in four days?” Arthur asked.

Eames nodded, pleased. He’d have expected a delay before Arthur asked him for another Encounter, or even expected Arthur to wait for him to initiate the contact. “My pod,” Eames said. “I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“Fine. Have a good night.”

Eames knew a dismissal when he heard one. As he made his way back to his pod, he had to admit this was the most interesting Encounter the Formula had led him to in quite some time. At the very least, it hadn’t been boring. It wasn’t romance, but it was something.

Eames and Arthur’s next meeting was similar to the first. There was little conversation before, and almost none after, but the sex was spectacular. Arthur looked around Eames’ pod curiously but didn’t ask questions about anything he saw, or make any threats about the obvious contraband Eames had lying around. Eames paid Arthur a few more compliments, and Arthur answered them as if they were serious, but Eames also caught the edge of a pleased expression on his face.

After their third encounter (only two days after their second, at Eames’ request), Ariadne and Yusuf caught on. “What’s changed with you?” Yusuf asked. “You seem considerably less dour this week.”

“You saw him again, didn’t you?” Ariadne crowed. “You like him! You have good sex!” They were in the mess hall, lingering over their Nutri-Capsules, and she was practically yelling. A few other cadets looked over with raised eyebrows.

Eames shrugged. “It’s not bad,” he allowed.

“You’re a good match!” Ari’s excitement was clear

“Not really…” Eames said. “That’s the funny part. I mean, the basics are OK--he bottoms, I top, that kind of thing. But he’s a cold fish, little bit tuned towards pain. Not what I’d pick.”

“Just goes to show,” Ari said smugly, “that the Formula knows better than you do.”

Eames sighed. It wasn’t worth arguing. Right now, he didn’t much care why it was working, only that it was. If he was thinking more about Arthur than he should be about a Formula-selected temporary sex partner, nobody needed to know that.

It took five Encounters before Eames risked asking Arthur any personal questions. They were back in Eames’ pod, and Arthur hadn’t jumped up to get dressed quite as quickly as before. “What track are you on?” Eames asked, figuring it his easiest opening.

“Combat,” Arthur said crisply.

Eames raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected that answer. “I’m Intelligence,” he offered.

Arthur nodded. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Care to stay for a drink?” Eames asked, loving how the words sounded--very old movie. “I have Nutri-Beer.”

Arthur peered at him, his tunic in his hand. “Why? Do you want to go again?”

Eames considered. “Wouldn’t say no to it,” he said.

“It’s against the rules.”

Eames shrugged. “As you can see, pet, I’m not over-fussed by the rules.” He fully expected Arthur to storm out, and maybe not message him for a few days. Arthur surprised him.

“OK,” Arthur said. “My refractory is about 15 minutes.”

Eames’ eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?” He’d rarely had occasion to even consider his own refractory period but he knew it was longer than that.

Arthur shrugged. “I’m in very good condition.” He slipped his tunic over his head and sat down at Eames’ little table. “Did you say something about Nutri-Beer?”

When Arthur left, quite a while later (nearly curfew), Eames’ body was pleasantly tired in a way he couldn’t recall ever feeling. He loved the exhaustion that came from a good workout, but this was something more. Arthur had taken his invitation to stay as a challenge, and showed him things he didn’t know were still possible. They’d used their hands and mouths in ways Eames hadn’t experienced since before the Academy. It was amazing. He waited even longer than usual before he pushed the button on his sleep serum, replaying the evening in his head.

The Academy was large enough that it wasn’t typical to run into Encounter partners, past or present, by chance. The Formula took that possibility into account and attempted to minimize the risks of it happening--nobody wanted to deal with an old lover during their daily activities. Because of this, Eames was shocked to see Arthur across the mess hall when he and Ari and Yusuf were eating their lunch capsules.

“That’s him,” Eames said, elbowing Ari. “Arthur.”

Ari followed his eyes. “Jeez, he is nice looking. I don’t know how you manage that.”

Eames glared at her. “You may not have noticed, Ariadne, but I am quite nice looking myself.”

Ari rolled her eyes. “How could I miss it, with you always pointing it out?”

Yusuf was also examining Arthur. “He’s combat?”

Eames nodded. “Yeah. One year behind us.”

Yusuf frowned. “He’s small for combat.”

“He is, but his body is…” Eames shook his head. “He can do things I didn’t think were possible anymore. If he’s got a Flaw, I can’t find it.”

Both Yusuf and Ariadne were surprised. Nearly everybody had at least one Flaw. “Creepy,” Ari said. “Does it feel like fucking an android?”

Eames chuckled. “It most certainly does not.”

Eames thought it better not to approach Arthur, as he might be squeamish about having someone he was having Encounters with show up where he wasn’t expecting them. Instead, he sent a message later, telling Arthur he’d noticed him and wondering why he’d been in a mess hall so far from his pod. Arthur answered more quickly than usual, explaining that he was taking some specialized language training in their sector and would likely be using their mess several days a week for the next few months. He apologized if that was an “inconvenience” for Eames and offered assurances that he would not make an unplanned approach.

Eames stared at the message. It was the farthest thing from an inconvenience. He was taken aback by how his stomach flipped when he saw Arthur would be spending time in his sector. It made no sense--they messaged each other regularly to set up Encounters, so why would running into him by chance matter?

The next time Eames encountered Arthur without prior planning, he understood the difference. It was exciting that it could happen without either of them knowing. Everything in his day was prescribed, down to the minute, but seeing Arthur was a surprise. He saw Arthur in line in the mess hall, and Eames’ elation carried him across the room, where he asked Arthur to join himself, Ari, and Yusuf for lunch. To his surprise, Arthur agreed.

“That was weird,” Yusuf said later, as they walked toward their next class. “Meeting someone you’re fucking. And talking to him.”

“Not totally appropriate,” Ariadne agreed. “I mean, who introduces their Encounters to their friends?” She looked at Eames and shook her head.

“I liked it,” Eames said. “It was nice.”

Both Ari and Yusuf looked suspicious. “Eames,” Yusuf said carefully, “you’re not plotting something, are you?” He was less rule-bound than Ariadne, but still hesitant about getting caught up in Eames’ misbehaviors.

“Nope,” Eames said. “I am doing as instructed. Regular, healthy sex.” There was no reason to mention to his friends that he and Arthur were now regularly going over the once daily maximum on Encounters. As far as rule-breaking went, it was fairly minor.

After the first time, Arthur ate with Eames and his friends regularly. Ariadne and Yusuf got used to him. He and Eames continued to meet very regularly for Encounters, mostly in Eames’ pod, since Arthur was in the sector anyway. After one particularly tiring round, they laid together on Eames’ bed for a bit longer than usual. “You want to stay and watch a movie?” Eames asked.

Arthur looked like he was going to refuse, but then he clicked his mouth shut and started again. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Sure.”

Eames didn’t choose one of his old movies--he had a feeling Arthur wouldn’t like them. Instead, he ordered the projector to play one of the newest android action films in his collection. It was a good choice. Arthur wasn’t a movie-talker, which was nice. They sat close together, but not touching, and watched.

“Thanks,” Arthur said as he slipped into his shoes. “That was...unexpected. And nice.”

“Sure,” Eames said, smiling widely. “We could do it again. Anytime.”

“I’d like that.”

Over the next few weeks, Eames and Arthur saw more of each other. One day, Eames was stunned to get a message from Arthur asking if he’d like to work out together. Arthur watched Eames’ non-standard routine with interest, even as he did his own prescribed workout. Because he was in Combat, it was different than anything Eames had seen before. When they were finished, they went to the mess for their evening Nutri-Capsules together, excitedly discussing the differences in their workouts. Another day, Arthur came over for an Encounter, but they watched another movie first, not getting around to the sex for hours.

Finally, Eames felt like Arthur was used to him, and to his friends, enough to join them on an old movie night. Arthur looked skeptical as Eames explained his love of early 2000s movies, but was willing to give it a try. Yusuf and Ariadne teased Eames as he queued up the film, but he ignored them.

Eames sat close to Arthur and, after giving it some thought, put his arm around Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur tensed a moment, and Eames was sure he’d throw it off, but then he relaxed, pushing his head back slightly against Eames’ bicep. Eames smiled.

The minute the credits began to roll, Ari and Yusuf started complaining about the film. Their issues were the same as usual--dating, as portrayed in the movie, was so inefficient, had such potential for failure, and created so much uncertainty. It was archaic and had been replaced by the Formula for a reason.

“What do you think, Arthur?” asked Ariadne, turning toward where Arthur still sat with his head against Eames’ arm. To Eames’ delight, Arthur had rested his hand on Eames’ knee an hour before and it was still there.

“You’re right,” Arthur said. “That stuff is inefficient and risky. The Formula is much safer and more effective.”

Eames shook his head. “I’d hoped you would take my side, pet,” he said. “I think it’s lovely, people taking chances on each other, learning to give each other what they need, putting in the effort. It’s nice. I’d like to try it.”

Ariadne narrowed her eyes, looking back and forth between Arthur and Eames. “Eames,” she said, slowly, “how often do you and Arthur see one another?”

Eames frowned. “None of your business, Ariadne.”

Arthur smiled. “It’s fine. They’re your friends, so they must be used to overlooking occasional rule-breaking.”

Yusuf rolled his eyes. “You could bloody say so.”

“Fine,” Eames huffed. “Quite a bit. Every few days.”

Arthur smirked. “Mostly every day. Every other day, at least.”

“And what do you do?” Ariadne asked.

“Ari, you know what we do.” Eames was irritated at the questions.

“Yes, but what else do you do?” Ari continued.

Eames shrugged. He had no idea what she was getting it. “Eat? Work out? Watch films? Talk?”

Ariadne nodded. “And do you send each other messages throughout the day?”

“Yes.”

Next to Eames, Arthur had started to smile, his eyes twinkling, as he looked at Ariadne. Ariadne noticed at the same time as Eames, and nodded slightly at Arthur. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”

Arthur turned toward Eames. “When people in these movies are dating, how do you know?” His voice was softer than usual as he asked.

Eames looked perplexed. “They spend time together. Go out and do things. Then, after some time, they start having sex. Usually, they meet each other’s friends. That kind of thing.”

“Right.” Arthur nodded.

Eames’ brow furrowed. He looked back and forth between Arthur and Ariadne. When neither of them said anything, he looked at Yusuf, as if searching for help. Yusuf was laughing.

“What?” Eames said, beginning to feel paranoid.

“Eames,” Arthur said, “what have you and I been doing?”

Eames’ eyes widened as he caught on. “Oh my God.” He was struck dumb a moment, then looked at Ari and Yusuf. “Get out. Now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For once, they didn’t argue. After the door clicked shut, Eames turned back to Arthur, still sitting close to him. “Arthur,” he asked, voice tense and hopeful, “are you saying we’re dating?”

Arthur smiled. “It would appear that way.”

“But…” Eames trailed off. He had no idea what to say. He’d fantasized about this, and now he was here and breathless.

“Do you not want to be dating?” Arthur asked, voice steady. “Or not want to be dating me?”

Eames shook his head violently. “No. God no. I want...I want to be dating you.” His eyes nearly filled with tears. “I’ve wanted to be dating you since the first time I saw you,” he said, not knowing it was true until it came out of his mouth. “But you...it’s not what you want.”

“It’s not what I intended,” Arthur agreed. “And it’s against the rules, so we’ll have to be careful. But…” he sighed, and then smiled. “I like this. I like being with you. I love sex with you, how you listen to what I want. I like how you’re not threatened--not be me, not by anything. I like that you do what makes sense to you, you don’t let them think for you.” He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I want to be dating you.”

Eames’ hands went to Arthur’s face automatically, cupping his sharp jaw. “I know you don’t kiss,” he said.

Arthur smiled. “I don’t date, either.” He wrapped his arms around Eames’ neck and met his lips, gentle and soft. “I don’t know how to do this,” he murmured into Eames’ mouth.

“That’s OK,” Eames said. “We’ll learn. I have lots more movies.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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